


Starlight Burns

by aurorareality



Category: One Piece
Genre: Dark Sabo, Gen, One Piece AU, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorareality/pseuds/aurorareality
Summary: Fate doesn't care about what you think.Fate just is.All you can do is try your best to make the most of what it throws at you.For Monkey D Luffy and Trafalgar Law, it comes naturally.For others?Not so much.Because in a world with bloodsuckers prowl, adapt or you're dead.





	1. Reflections

He looked ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He knew he did, without even needing to look at his reflection on the glass of the window display of the nearest shop. Sadly, it was the only option available, if he didn't want to burn into a nice pile of ashes and agony. Trafalgar D Law stalked across the boulevard, holding a ghastly striped rainbow umbrella over his head, making sure to stay inside the large, looming shadow of the obelisk. Just in case. The residents of the city kept a wide berth. There was only one creature unfortunate enough to have to hold up this monstrosity over his head on a pleasant, balmy summer's day.  
Some even had the nerve to snicker.  
He chased away the giggles and stares with a flash of canine teeth and savagery. They may laugh and mock during the day, but as soon as night fell, they retreated like mice into their tiny abodes and triple-locked the door with silver and holy water, fearing the bite. Quickly ducking into a dark alley, he reveled in the wash of shadow across his skin. The ladies of his kind had it easy- they carried around dainty, armored parasols made of black lace, and oftentimes wore silky veils draped over their faces. While he was stuck with-this. This. He leveled a glare at the umbrella.  
A breeze swept through the alleyway, ridding the cobblestones of dust, and metal clanked against stone. Law looked up to see a wooden plaque, rotting at the edges, swinging softly in the wind to sometimes brush against the stone wall. It read: The House of the Dead in bold, cursive script. A skeletal hand, painted with white and black, stretched out from the border of the sign, holding a needle and a thread, which was half threaded through a rather well done illustration of a ladies' lips, tinted red and still dripping fresh blood.  
"Morbid," he muttered. A blink, and his eyes washed over the colour of garnets. He looked at the sign again. Just as he thought- a silencing charm was woven in between the bones of the skeletal hand. He watched as the head popped into view, gave him a welcoming smile, and pulled the other hand out of some pocket in space and time. The hand was holding a pen, and Law observed carefully as it wrote PASSWORD? in block letters on seemingly empty air. He smiled.  
“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights," he whispered. The skeleton clutched his hand to his empty ribcage, where his heart would have been, as if he were touched.  
WHY, THANK YOU, the hand wrote.  
"Get on with it," Law said, with a dismissive wave.  
ALRIGHT, the hand wrote. CORRECT. PROCEED. There was a faint, almost unheard click, and the wall swung open. I WARN YOU, HOWEVER, -and Law turned back to watch what the animation was saying-THEY'RE BUSY. NEW ONE CAME. Law nodded, as if he understood (he really could care less, he knew already), and stepped into the building, tossing the umbrella forgotten into the alleyway.

The skeleton was right. They were busy. Two vampires, new ones, judging from the not yet faded rose in their cheeks, were dragging an unconscious body- a boy, barely eighteen, by the look of it- to the back room from the other room. He was splattered with blood, a burn sprawled across his chest that still reeked of burnt flesh, but alive, definitely alive. Law could hear the pulse of blood pumping through his veins, and could assume this was what the owner had called him to help with. He'd been pretty ambiguous, when he'd asked for Law's help. Another vamp, slightly older by the look of it, was carrying a very dead body to the same place. Law assessed the injuries, and winced. The corpse, a twenty something man, had a gaping hole in its middle, and judging from the pallor of what had to be a newly dead, was sucked completely of blood.

The three vampires hadn't noticed him yet, and he took a split second opportunity to study the changes made to the room. The twelve small round mahogany tables were arranged in their usual semicircles by the side of the room, leaving the center of the room free. It was all still paved with the same wood, but it seemed that the new owner had taken the time to scrub the chalk circles out of the wood a bit more. He'd also added a counter directly across from the doorway, and refurnished the two trapdoors behind it that would lead directly into two separate mausoleums. A expensive cut glass chandelier dangled from the ceiling, simple, small but elegant, and reduced risk of fire. The last owner had preferred candles. He'd also put new latches on everything, including the door on the left side of the room where the bodies were just carried in from.  
The owner rushed in from the back room, and his grim expression lightened when he saw Law, a flash of a smile revealing pointed canines only slightly shorter than Law's. He clapped him on the back, and Law had to resist the shudder from the invasion of privacy. The owner- Moria, his name was- pointed at the smaller figure. 

"I need you to help with him," he said. It took more than sixty steps to cross the expansive room, even with his long legs, and he pretended not to notice the way Moria hurried to keep up with him. The two vampires had come closer across the massive room, and deposited the boy on the countertop. He could see his mouth gaping in agony.

"Who's he?" he asked, peeling off his coat and placing by the counter top. The two vampires went silently to help the third one with the corpse, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw them open the right trapdoor and begin to carry him down into the mausoleum. Well. Bad luck for that one. He thought about the blood, and wondered which shadow he'd be paired with. He seemed pretty strong. Moria smiled at him.

"This one? Monkey D Luffy." Law whistled. 

"Garp's grandson?" It was surprising. He would've expected the old geezer to have picked up the body. But something must have happened. He thought back to the corpse. That looked like Akainu's work, there. To identify the vampire who had sucked the blood would require further investigation.

"The other one's Portgas D Ace. They're brothers, apparently." That was even more surprising. Portgas D Ace...his father Law had known, once upon a time. He looked down at the body of Monkey D Luffy. What better way to repay a debt then with a life? 

"The one the government's been hunting?" he asked. 

"Yeah." Law bit down the questions he had. Those could come later. Already, he could see the boy's breaths begin to stutter. He was already far past the point of normal medical treatment. Moria must have picked him up right after the injury.

"So," he asked, a razor sharp grin on his lips. He surveyed the boy's body. He wasn't dead ugly. In fact, he would have even called handsome by some, even if the expression he was currently wearing wasn't very winning. "I assume..." he left it hanging. 

"Go ahead," Moria said, gesturing at him to get on with it. Law fixed his eyes on a pulsing vein on the boy's neck, knelt on the ridged floor for ease of access, and rested sharp, inch long incisors on the slightly raised line. He could already feel the blood slacking in its rounds around the boy's body, each pulse becoming increasingly sluggish. It was a fine art, the bite. First, you had to bleed the victim. The wound had done that for him. To draw blood to feed, vampires did not bite. They cut, and then sucked from the open wound. 

The bite had to be done in the moment before death, the moment when the heart beat its last beat, the moment of the last breath. He sensed the vampires that had carried the body down returning, and could feel them watching with bated breath. 

Almost, he thought, almost- and- now.

He bit down.


	2. Wealth and Warlords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism appreciated- any type of feedback, actually. Sincere thanks to those who read the last chapter.

Coppery blood filled his mouth, the scent taking him back hundreds of years, to a mansion on a hill, the fragrance of grass and sunflowers and sun warmed metal, to cold hard brittle determination and the imprint of tragedy not yet hardened into fossilized stone. He had watched him swallow then, and he swallowed now, the blood still warm, salty and coppery, liquid sunlight, molten moonlight, starlight in physical form, and there was everything addicting about it. 

From that moment he was caught- there was something wonderfully primal, visceral in the act of the bite. He drank hungrily, noisily, messily, teeth embedded in flesh, fingernails elongating as they sunk into the wood of the counter, which was now spattered in blood. To an outsider, he must have looked mad, an animal spark in his eyes, savagery in his teeth, a wolf, consumed by bloodlust, that would rather tear its prey to pieces than let go of it, but in truth he was more conscious of everything, even as he fell deeper beyond the realm of control. 

Even if he had wanted to stop, he could not have. Vampires performed the bite very rarely, if ever, and even though he was one of the exceptions to this unspoken rule, the act never lost its luster. It was sunlight and colour to a blind man, freedom to a prisoner, a feast and a palace to one who had starved in darkness for years. And this particular specimen was exceptional. It was life, life in every swallow, every slurp, it was life he was inhaling, and he’d forgotten just how wonderful life was. 

And suddenly it all turned cold.

He was still high off the aftereffects, of course, but the blood churned uneasily in his stomach, leaving him full but not satisfied. He looked down, and saw a corpse, cold and most certainly dead. He retracted his teeth, pulled back his fingernails, stood up and surveyed his work- despite the mess, there were two neat puncture holes around a centimeter apart. He whirled to face the other men in the room, and despite themselves, they all took a step back, fear in their eyes. He grinned. He knew what he looked like, blood coating his teeth, his lips, spattered on his face, dripping off his clothes. Savagery incarnate. 

“Take him down,” he said. The men hurried to comply with his order. With careful hands, they lifted the body of Monkey D Luffy onto their shoulders. His face was pale, the arms and legs that were once called tan and lanky hanging limply down, fingertips brushing thin air, and now they were only spidery and frail. Those warm chocolate eyes had hardened into chips of black in the flickering light, and he stared into nothing, into a realm which nobody else could see. He watched as the men carried the boy down to the other mausoleum, opposite the one from which his brother was currently stored in. He watched as the feet disappeared from view, then the arms, dragging on the stone steps, and finally the messy raven hair. The trapdoor swung shut with a bang. 

Moria handed him a handkerchief. The fear had vanished like an illusion, and now all that was in its place was an odd hunger and a strange light in his eye. Moria was blatantly curious, unabashedly staring at his sharp teeth, the wiry strength in his hands, his eyes, still washed with crimson. They would revert to their original colour in anywhere between four to eight hours. Carefully, meticulously, he wiped off his face with the handkerchief and collected his coat into his arms.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “but in the meantime, do you have a restroom I could use?” The simple, innocuous words had a profound effect. 

Moria blanched, face draining of colour- if that was possible, being pale as a vampire already- but after a split second’s deliberation, nodded. “Do you know the way yourself?” he asked hurriedly. Law smiled pleasantly, all teeth and no real light.

“Refresh my memory. I seem to have forgotten.” Moria, impossibly, blanched even further, shapeless oval face sagging, and he nervously fiddled with the buttons on his black overcoat that was, in Law’s opinion, a fashion nightmare over the hideous orange pants.

“I’ll-I’ll lead you,” he said, as was expected of a host to a vampire. “Wait a second.” He hurried behind the counter, flipped open the trapdoor, and shouted down the long tunnel burrowing into the earth. “Don’t forget to clean up, men!” The order echoed through the room once, twice, and disappeared. There was an affirmative from one of the men, the sound bouncing up the stairs, sounding far away and almost cartoonish when it reached their ears. Moria turned to him again, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the tunnel. “They’ll clean up,” he repeated, as if Law hadn’t heard. 

Law nodded, and Moria started towards the door on the opposite side of the room. It took barely one long stride to match three of Moria’s waddles, and Law slowed down, hoping the man wouldn’t notice. He didn’t. Law slowed his steps even more, allowing Moria to lead. He felt a stab of satisfaction as he saw a trickle of sweat trace its way down the sagging skin of the man’s nape and disappear into his frilled collar.

They stopped in front of the door. Moria fumbled out a ring of keys around the size of a carriage wheel from his back pocket, and began to pick through the choices, thumb and voluptuous sleeve hiding it almost completely from view, although he could hear the keys clanking as the slid around on the ring. By the sound alone, there had to be more than ten on that one ring alone. And he could still see another, barely poking out of the pocket of the man’s coat. At Law’s look, he shrugged, somewhat apologetically.

“Just a security measure,” he said. “I’m quite well known in the Underworld, after all. And although I wouldn’t refuse anyone, I’d rather not be attacked.” Law didn’t answer. “Ah, here,” Moria said, clicking his tongue, and he inserted the correct key, giving it a violent wrench. He tried the knob. It remained stubbornly firm. The man cursed. 

“My apologies, Law,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “You know these old artifacts. They can be testy.” He tried again, muttering under his breath, and the door clicked open. Moria let out a sigh of relief. “Just go straight ahead,” he said. “Go in through the seventh gateway and turn left through the fifth door, and it should be right-“

“May I see your key?” Moria turned. 

“What?” Moria asked, with surprise that was almost endearing, and gave a nervous little chuckle. Law stuck out his hand, all chivalry and aristocratic aloofness gone. There was something he wanted, and he would get it.

“Your keys?” he demanded again. A bead of sweat blossomed on Moria’s scalp, and he took out another handkerchief and wiped it. 

“Terribly hot today,” he said. “As I was saying-“

Law fixed him with a cold and terrible glare. “You really think that I would come here just to acquiesce with your request? How presumptuous,” he said softly. “For Monkey D Luffy and Portgas D Ace, perhaps, but not for you.”

Despite himself, Moria stiffened with indignation, and Law leaned closer, fingers grasping like claws on Moria’s sleeve, and even though he barely reached his shoulders, he knew who was in control in this situation. He could hear Moria’s heartbeat, irregular, fluttering like the wings of some caged wild bird. “The Joker bid me here,” he whispered in his ear, and reveled in the catch of breath, each pulse now falling like a hammer onto an anvil. He let go of Moria’s sleeve, and the man reeled back. 

“O-Of course,” he bluffed, and chuckled again. “Of course.” Law wasn’t surprised when, a second later, the entire ring of keys fell into his palm. He closed his fingers around them, ignoring Moria’s look of desperate despair. Law looked up at Moria, made sure their eyes met. He smiled. 

“Let’s go on a little tour, shall we?”

Law was humming when he left the building, an old sea shanty his parents had taught him, and he didn’t even realize it until he was interrupted by the faraway sound of wheels scratching on cobblestone. 

Some indescribable feeling hit him like a brick to the chest, crushing his heart, squeezing his lungs in its grip over the span of a second. He looked behind him, thought of the new generation, of Monkey D Luffy and Portgas D Ace, both dead, one never to return, thought of their ashes, soon to be forgotten. He thought of older ashes, in the same ground, gone to whatever lay beyond, surely happy, surely reunited, surely feasting at the same table, reminiscing over old memories and laughing at new ones, pouring each other wine, drunk on their own company. Would his mother still like the same sour-sweet cherry tarts, garnished with a dollop of cream and summer light? Would his father still burst into a fit of laughter in the middle of a story, absentmindedly plucking the twice- broken strings of his guitar?

Then he looked down at himself, at the grey parchment of his skin, still the same as it was in the Revolution, Kikoku in his hands, teeth flashing at the head of the ranks, in the shadow of Grecian columns and oil paintings, in the sunlight of another century. The night wind whistled, and he felt as if someone were tugging at the strings of his ancient, near-unmovable heart.

Pull the right chords, and everything would spill out. 

The fallen leaves skittered down the empty alleyway, cracking skin and thin, needle like veins illuminated by the warm yellow light of streetlamps. He moved to stand under the light. It was still just as cold, but at least he could feel his cheek bathed in the illusion of warmth. The shadows scattered, but Law didn’t know if it was because of the light or the carriage, just turning the corner and pulling to a stop in front of him.

The Old Ones- vampires so old they could remember wandering among the tribes that once roamed the Earth, before the dawn of agriculture, in a much simpler time when survival was key. And they survived, all right. They sometimes took a few years to adapt to current trends, and they still preferred horse and carriage to the automobile. This particular one had no one at the reins, and was pulled only by a night black stallion, which tossed its head and stomped its feet, breath coming out in snorts of mist. The night was so cold it burned.

Now, with the light filtering through the thin satin curtains, he could see the silhouette of a man, the signature feathered cloak draped around the shoulders. Despite feeling like he was drowning in the years, he managed a smile, knowing that even through the satin curtains, the man inside would see it- sense it, even. With his employer, a permanent smile was part of the job description. The dark wood of the carriage door swung open, and a hand was offered, fingers glinting with rings, an obvious sign of wealth. Law took it, letting the man inside pull him inside the carriage. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” the man asked. Law smiled again as he slid across the velvet cushions of the coach. He looked up. Doflamingo was tall. Taller than him, and that was saying a lot.

“Don’t mess with me,” he replied, “we both know the answer.” The other man chuckled, raising the wine glass he was grasping by its stem with an almost mocking air. Despite the cleanliness of the inside of the coach, there was the pungent smell of cigarette smoke in the air. He turned from Doflamingo to the other figure on the coach, similarly with legs crossed, but with his arms crossed and puffing away on a cigarette. And, his feathered coat was black. “Corazon,” he greeted.

As expected, the man didn’t move, only raising his head as acknowledgement, tattoo appearing almost grisly in the low light. He turned back to Doflamingo. “Did you get it done?” the man asked. Law smiled, feral, and despite the fact that Doflamingo was reclining on the seats, the picture of squalor while turning the stem of the wine glass around in his fingers, there was a certain tautness to his shoulders, the lines of his face. 

“You doubt me?” he asked, with a small upwards twitch of the lips to show it was meant in good faith and to bring good spirits. In a heartbeat, the tension melted away like spring snow, almost like it was never there. 

“Of course not,” Doflamingo assured. “And Monkey D Luffy? Portgas D Ace?” He was studying him, searching for lies, eyes picking out any minute movements, hesitation, that might indicate that he wasn’t being as truthful as he seemed. Law didn’t miss a beat.

“Dead,” he said. “I came a bit too late.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, resting his head against the glass panes and laying his sword across his lap. Doflamingo stared at him for a second, still holding a ear to ear grin. It didn’t seem Doflamingo had found anything in his thorough examination- he retreated again, suspicion tucked away behind sunglasses and a smile. Then again, you could never be sure with Doflamingo. Law made a mental note to hide Monkey D Luffy away somewhere safer next time he visited.

The carriage drew up to a driveway, rattling across cobblestone, and as it slowed to a stop, he stretched, spine straightening. His foot was asleep, and he wriggled it irritably, picking up his sword, absentmindedly fiddling with the red thread tied to the hilt. It didn’t take long before the carriage doors swung open, and a servant was waiting right outside with a gloved hand raised to help him out. He hopped out, boots clicking on the stone, and was hit with a sudden gust of cold air brushing across what skin was still exposed to the night. 

He turned, and watched as another servant helped Doflamingo and Corazon out of the other side of the coach, making their way around the carriage to join him in front of the front doors of the mansion. Doflamingo grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“Looks good, huh?”

Law didn’t answer. He’d only been away for a few months, but the renovations had finally been finished in that time. They were a few miles away from the city, and fog shrouded the fields that sprawled to the right, and the forest pressing in from the left, circling all the way around the back. A large set of circular steps led directly to the front door- two hulking creatures of dark wood, with a door knocker in the shape of a wolf’s mouth. Vines crept up the right side of the building, or more specifically, the Grecian columns on that side, supporting a wide balcony with marble railings. Spires twisted up from the roof, ornamenting the sloped shingles, and Law counted two new floors- that made five, now, including the attic. 

Windows crept all the way up the building, decorated with all types of curtains, from satin to lace to velvet. A fountain gurgled gently in the middle of the courtyard, in front of where he was currently standing. It was a little late to admire them, but sunflowers lined the pathway all the way up to the house, disappearing behind the corner of the building, no doubt leading to an expansive garden in the back. 

“How many people live here again,” Law asked- he had forgotten, and the numbers changed so often. Doflamingo glanced at Corazon, who took his hand away from his cigarette and held up three fingers. 

“Around thirty,” he said, “not including the servants and those who visit during the day. Business associates and such.”

Law grimaced. “Well, don’t expect me to be staying.” Doflamingo laughed, tossing his head back, and began to walk up the steps to the door.

“I would never.” Law took the steps two at a time, as did Doflamingo and Corazon, due to their height advantages. Soon they stood at the top of the steps, the double doors in front of them. Pressing a finger to his lips, Doflamingo reached inside the wolf door knocker’s mouth, and pressed something inside, winking. A tinny tune, soft and yet clearly penetrating the air, burst forth from the device. Doflamingo turned to Corazon. 

The tune played again. It was a sweet, simple melody, but layered with harmonies and countermelodies. Corazon tilted his head, contemplated, and brought his hand out of his pocket. He turned to a keypad hidden between one of the cracks in the wall and punched in a series of numbers. 

With a faint creak, the left door swung open, painting a slowly spreading ray of soft golden light onto the steps. Doflamingo bowed, waved him in. Law kept his hand on the hilt of Kikoru as his boots clicked onto marble, and he had to admit, he was impressed. Doflamingo stepped in after Corazon, closing the door behind him with a hand, and he watched as the small patch of shadow disappeared, bathing everything in warm light.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, the picture of understated elegance, and a sweeping set of stairs led up to the second floor. There was a door to the left, a door to the right, and behind the stairs, Law could see a huge dining table, fully set and ready for guests. He felt his lips quirk up into a smile. Antique sideboards- those were from the eighteenth century. Chandelier was pretty old, as well, and paintings hung from the walls- arranged in order by age, all the way from the Middle Ages to Impressionism to the works of the prominent modern day artists. 

A grand piano stood leisurely to the side of the staircase, legs sinking into a lush red carpet, on which stood a bookshelf stuffed full of music, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky. Law turned to Doflamingo.

“Is the library…” he left the sentence unfinished, knowing the man would know what he meant. Doflamingo grinned even wider, and pulled his sunglasses off, snapping it closed and tucking it neatly into his shirt. 

“Don’t worry. It’ll be there in the morning.” This time, it was Law’s turn to smirk. Doflamingo’s library was the best there was, worth, both knowledge and monetary value far exceeding the public libraries. Last time he’d been here, they hadn’t started to fill it up with his books yet. 

Law’s head snapped up as a side door opened, revealing a servant dressed in prim black and white. He bowed low, stiffly, formally to his master, and took the wine glass from him as Doflamingo shrugged off his coat. The servant folded it neatly, draping it over his arm. He didn’t bother to ask for Corazon’s, but turned to Law. He politely refused, and the servant nodded.

“Shall I lead Mr. Trafalgar to his room, sir?” he asked. Doflamingo glanced at Law.

“No need,” he said. “I’ll do it myself. I have some things to discuss.” He started towards the door to the right, ornately carved with a design of vine leaves and roses, and Corazon followed, casually trailing after his brother almost as an afterthought. Doflamingo opened the door and waited just behind the threshold, Corazon stepping to the side, beside his brother. The meaning was clear. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, and Doflamingo smiled, tight lipped as they followed him through, closing the door behind them. The last he saw of the lobby was the servant, standing in a way strangely…insubordinate, coat still draped over his arms, and when he smiled, it was fanged, teeth appearing almost bloody in the low light.

There was no time to think on that and the consequences it presented, however. On the other side of the door was a small, cozy parlor, with leather couches arranged around a small fireplace kept burning, and there was a slight smell of burnt apples and ashes that permeated the air. The smoke was funneled up through a stone chimney, rustic but elegantly ornamented with gold. A coffee table stood between the couches, on which was simply placed a pot of tea and three cups. Law glanced around the room, took it in as a whole.

There were lamps in the corners of the rooms, and rectangular windows sufficiently high up enough on the wood paneled walls that they were past the reach of Law, but just high enough for Doflamingo to grasp. No doors other than the one he came in from, but knowing Doflamingo, there were probably hidden ones. It was, all in all, a change from the expansive simplicity of the grand lobby. There was a light hanging from the ceiling from a single wire, artistically skewed and lopsided, and Law was sure that it was genuine high quality blown glass. 

Doflamingo seated himself in one of the couches closer to the fire, and Corazon plopped down on the opposite one, with much less grace. He motioned for Law to come forward. Warily, he did as he was told, sitting delicately on the very edge of the seat, resting Kikoku on the armrest. Quietly, Corazon took the teapot, toasted mockingly, and began pouring it into the cups. 

“So,” Doflamingo began- and stopped abruptly, hands shooting out of their folded position cupping under the table to save one of the clay teacups from crashing onto the floor. He turned to his brother and took the teapot from his hands with a pointed glare. He coughed, cleared his throat, and Corazon shrugged, sinking back into the cushions, cigarette nestled between his teeth. “As I was saying, how’s the search going?”

Law ground his teeth. “You know perfectly well how the search is going, my liege.” Doflamingo shrugged, raised his teacup to his lips. 

“I just wanted to check.” The smile he gave next was anything but pleasant. “Although I doubt anything’s ever going to change. How many centuries has it been?” He shrugged satirically, always blithe, facetious. Law hated it. “And so it will be- two immortals bound by blood forever locked in an infinite battle to the end of time. How poetic.” Corazon lifted his head. Law remained silent- they all knew it was probably true. Law wasn’t one to hold onto blind faith- he was too scientific for that.

Doflamingo turned the teacup in his hand. “Honestly, that was a rash decision that you made.” Law stiffened. Doflamingo was in a contemplative mood. And that was never good.

“What can I say,” Law said, arbitrary, as if it was just a passing comment. “Youth.” Maybe, given the right circumstances, Law could trust blind faith just fine. Especially if it was the only option given to him. Because the other option he would not think about.

Doflamingo wasn’t finished. “You’re lucky your intentions coincide with mine, then. If I call you a fool for your so called patience, then I am even more so.” He leaned forward over the coffee table. “So. Any news you need to bring me before I give you your next assignment?”

Law shook his head, took a sip of tea. It wasn’t Doflamingo’s usual type, which was light with just an edge of bitterness- this one was earthier, sweeter. He liked it. “None that I know of, no.” 

“Good,” Doflamingo said, and Law was immediately wary when his ever prominent grin pressed down into a grim line, spread thinly over his face. “Because the Warlords are coming in for the annual meeting tomorrow morning, and I want you as copilot.” 

Law bit his lip to prevent himself from doing something very, very rash. The man hadn’t even had the decency to inform him previous to the engagement- he knew exactly how much Law hated last minute appointments. “So, basically I’m supposed to be your figurehead while you toy with all of the Warlords, most of which you have on a leash, if I know them correctly.” Instead of smiling, like Law had expected, Doflamingo’s expression didn’t change, instead curved down even more, frown mockingly bitter.

“Actually, Law,” Doflamingo said, voice stretched taut like a bowstring, “there’s been quite a few changes implemented while you were away.” It was obvious that having to explain it, confront it was irking Doflamingo quite a bit, and Law felt curiosity burn in his chest. Not much could disturb his master’s near flawless composure. Doflamingo looked the picture of relaxation, leaning back on the armchair, but Law knew he was…Law searched for the word. Not anxious…unsettled, almost by the way that he turned his teacup around and around with his slender fingers. Obviously, the new Warlords were a problem.

“Go on,” Law said. “I haven’t been keeping up.” Doflamingo’s knuckles whitened as his hands tightened almost imperceptibly around the cup, and he started to speak. 

His head was reeling. ‘Quite a few changes’ was a grave underestimation. “So, now there’s-“ he counted on his fingers, “You, Edward Weevil, Blackbeard, Mihawk, Hancock, and Bartholomew Kuma in the Warlords.” That was Jinbe and Crocodile gone, huh? A war. How had he missed a war? He thought back to his previous engagement, and felt a pulse of furious, irrational irritation. He hadn’t asked, but Moria should’ve informed him about this event, not just led him to believe it’d been a routine marine attack on the two brothers. He threaded his fingers through each other, calmed his heart rate. There would be quite a lot to talk about next time they met. 

Law’s memory returned to a comatose body on a table. Who would’ve thought that Monkey D Luffy had been so involved? Law looked forward to their next meeting. He’d have to hide his interference- Doflamingo must never know about what he’d done. 

“Correct,” Doflamingo said, and by the displeasure lacing his tone, Law could tell he wasn’t happy that that was the case. Law couldn’t tell what he was thinking, due to those yellow paned sunglasses thoroughly hiding his eyes, but he was definitely waiting for him to say something. Law had a pretty good idea what that was. He set down his teacup with a thunk, and Corazon surreptitiously put down his own cup, only half empty. 

“Count me in,” he said. Doflamingo’s lips finally, finally, eased up into a grin, and Law felt tension spill from his shoulders. 

“Just as I thought,” he said, satisfaction coating his voice like honey. “I’ll lead you to your room.” Law smiled, and avoided looking at the disappointment in Corazon’s eyes as Doflamingo showed him out the door. He’d had centuries of practice- another few years would mean nothing. 

Dreams visited him that night, memory clinging onto the threshold of wakefulness, and for minutes he lay there with his eyes closed, trying for all his life to remember what it had been. Every time the memory felt near to the surface of consciousness, Law broke out in cold sweat. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been a good dream. He opened his eyes, blinked until he was fully awake, rubbed his gummed together eyes.

The first sensation that he experienced- pure bliss. He was on a bed. An actual bed. One that belonged to Doflamingo, but a bed nonetheless. And those were silk covers. He burrowed deeper into the king sized four poster, trying vainly to ignore the light streaming through the thin gossamer curtains. Artificial, of course, he thought wryly, but Doflamingo was so stinking rich that he could afford to make it look real enough to fool any human. Five minutes, he reasoned with himself. What can five minutes do? APPOINTMENT! His brain shouted in reply. He groaned and sat up, practically falling out of bed. 

A starched, stiff black suit greeted him, hanging on a peg by the doorway, matching white gloves draped over the hanger. A note was placed in the collar, no doubt put there by Doflamingo. The suit had copper buttons in an almost military style, and on each of the buttons was a little engraving- Doflamingo’s symbol- a feather trapped in a spider web. There would be no doubt as to his allegiance. He sighed, gritted his teeth, picked up the suit. Remember, he reminded himself, you chose this. 

It fit perfectly. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised- Doflamingo had done this for him many times, although it’d been quite a time since then, after their little spat. Law looked around. There hadn’t been enough time to explore his room the previous night- but now he could see that it was huge. The bedroom in itself was at least twelve meters in length, and eight in width, and was completely furnished, a modest sized chandelier hanging from a gold chain.

Out the door was a sitting room with armchairs and burnt red wallpaper, which led to the main hallway. It took a while to throw open all the doors, but there was an expansive bathroom connected to the bedroom, a drawing room, and a small library illuminated with little glass lamps. There was a closet in his room- when he threw the doors open, he found his suitcase nesting in the corner, and a full collection of clothes that remarkably, all looked like would fit. Law had the unsettling suspicion that they were made specifically for him. The thought didn’t sit well with him, but he would consider its implications later. He glanced at his watch- there was a grandfather clock in his room, of all idiocies- and redoubled his search with hurried haste. There was a cabinet and a mirror in his room as well- after some digging, he found a small ornamental comb and ran it through his hair a few times. 

It took a few hurried minutes to get ready, and soon he was standing outside his doorway, tapping his fingers against Kikoku’s hilt and trying to remember which way the kitchen was. He faintly remembered Doflamingo telling him he was in the East, or residential wing, which meant he needed to cross the entire mansion to get to the kitchens and conference rooms. He surveyed his surroundings. There were lamps clinging to the plain white wallpaper, and the light was a warm yellow, washing the ceiling in gold and chasing away shadows. Law peered down the hallway- the right led to a staircase spiraling down, but the left continued on.

Mind made up, he raised his foot- and stopped abruptly as blue eyes materialized before him. He raised an eyebrow when he recognized the figure. It was the servant from yesterday, who smiled pleasantly, and wordlessly offered his hand to Law. He felt the urge to laugh out loud, but quelled it, returned the smile, and placed his fingers so that they lightly brushed the servant’s glove. 

“I see that the Master has not yet fully melded with the customs of the current century,” he said with a small, mocking smile, and waited for a response. If the servant recognized the jibe, he didn’t acknowledge it. 

“Yes. The Master does prefer the older ways. He especially requested we treat you with courtesy, sir.” Really, now? Despite his foul mood, Law bit the inside of his lip to keep a grin from blooming on his face. Doflamingo must have allowed the servant to reveal this little bit of information, but it was a small victory nonetheless. He adjusted his grip on Kikoku, and they walked on in silence, his sensitive fingers noticing the iron cord of muscle underneath the vampire’s glove, and eyes tracing down the line of the servant’s coat to the outline of a weapon, concealed under the immaculately arranged tailcoat.

After a few minutes, they stopped in front of a set of double doors, carved and embellished with a design of vines and roses. The servant took hold of a polished metal handle and pushed the door open, with near bated breath, as if anticipating something. Law blinked. Blinked again, and then smiled, swallowing his surprise. 

“Why, you should’ve mentioned Doflamingo had taken an interest in botany.” The servant bowed his head, the picture of submission, but he could sense sharp eyes watching his every move.

“I didn’t think it was relevant, sir.” The insubordinate comment was tempered with carefully controlled apathy. What was behind the door was truly worthy of the manor and its occupants, the beings that would walk these halls. It was a courtyard, specifically designed for their kind. Trellises stretched over their heads, a framework like the ribs of some great beast. Grape vines blanketed them, a canopy of broad leaves blocking both the scourge of rain and the curse of sunlight. Luscious purple strands of grapes hung from the vines, at the same time decorative and practical, dangling just above their heads, so that Law need only lift his hand to pick one. Paths branched out from the door, the main one paved with rustic brick, the fact that it was slightly uneven only adding to its charm. 

Crescent shaped lights were slung onto the trellises by means of thin, cobweb like threads, and they dangled at slightly different heights beside the path. They were luminescent, like the glow of the moon in clear midnight, and small, delicate flowers bloomed in trays of dirt set along the paths, just in front of bushes ripe with red berries, all blossoming by thoroughly artificial light. 

Law didn’t know whether to consider it a miracle of a travesty. The servant brushed by him, indifferent, and Law felt his lip curl. Such disregard could only be shown by one privileged, who had flourished all their lives under wealth, under the loving embrace of Doflamingo’s perfumed arms, and didn’t know how much one of their brethren would pay to be here. For some, eternal darkness seemed unchangeable, unmovable, and they bore midnight through all their years because they didn’t have the means to change it. 

The servant led on. The path twisted and forked, but eventually led to a central courtyard, where a fountain splashed, water spraying out of the mouths of an angel and a demon, sitting back to back carved out of veined marble, the demon enveloping the angel in the cradle of his ragged wings. A stab of nostalgia and foreboding, and he felt as if he were suffocating. He stared at it for a long moment, the image triggering something in him that he couldn’t quite remember- but then the moment passed, and the servant was guiding him onto the path. He must have fell into a bit of a daze- he barely noticed the passing of time, and started when the servant rapped sharply on a pair of double doors exactly the same as the one they’d entered through.

He took the time to adjust his collar, twist his ring around, and check the lines of his suit, but then the door opened, blinding light filtering through from the other room, and Doflamingo was waiting for him in a striped suit, coat draped over his back, wine in his hand and sunglasses in his pocket, looking for all the world like a member of the mafia. He smiled, bowed slightly, and in a gesture that Law couldn’t help but think was mocking, waved him inside. Law nodded to him and stepped in to marble floors and a grand staircase, leading up to another set of doors. In contrast, however, this set was thrown wide open, and from here, he could see the silhouettes of eleven people, seated around a long table, fully set and ornately decorated. 

Law made sure to smile. He bowed, and addressed them directly, fighting a smirk when he felt all eleven pairs of eyes settle on him. 

“Hello, Warlords.”


End file.
